


Silhouette

by jessicathebestica



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-04-22 13:21:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14309550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicathebestica/pseuds/jessicathebestica
Summary: This is 'loosely' based on an anonymous ask disasterisms (aka kylorenvevo) received on tumblr.prompt: "The awesome dresses on LWABOC gave me a modern Au fic idea in which Rey is a hit model having a great runway season until she goes to Kylo Ren’s show casting. The new enfant terrible of the fashion world, who is known for being a genius designer and an awful person, mocks her and the idea of having such a “sweetheart” in his show (she would ruin his aesthetic completely)! Hurt and shocked by his words, Rey loses her temper and shows him how “sweet” she actually is! Kylo will never forget that! :)"Needless to say, it got stuck in my head and things sort of unraveled from there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [diasterisms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diasterisms/gifts).



> I'm pretty sure the only reason this came to be is because I thew out my back and haven't been able to leave the house all day. Idle hands and all.
> 
> Anyway, there's at least one more installment in this little fic (if not two more...we shall see).
> 
> Let me know what you think!

Armitage Hux lounges in the sleek black leather armchair situated in Kylo Ren’s office, one ankle resting on the knee of the other as he peruses the December issue of _Vogue Italia_.

“Listen to this,” he says, knowing full well that at least 80% of Kylo’s concentration won’t waver from arranging—and rearranging—the order in which he wishes to debut his Fall collection.  However, that doesn’t stop Hux from trying.  “When interviewed, Fabia asked her what she considered to be the most iconic film look.  Do you know what she said?”

There isn’t even a grunt of acknowledgement from Kylo as he rucks his hand through his hair, unpinning the dress set to go fourth and slating it to go after the lacy number with the cape made of mulberry silk.

Unaffected by how one-sided this conversation is looking, Hux continues.  “Well, actually she starts with Little Edie from Grey Gardens, which I’m assuming is her attempt at being comical.  I’ll never understand why models bother trying to create personalities for themselves.  Anyway, after that uncultured moment passes, she says that she’s always admired the ‘refined balance of femininity and masculinity in Diane Keaton’s look in Annie Hall.’”

Again, nothing.

“Don’t you find that interesting?” he presses further.  “I mean, not many people would side with you and claim that Annie Hall’s pant-and-vest combo was the most iconic piece of film fashion history.”

Kylo sighs after realizing his right-hand man is liable to read the whole damn article if he doesn’t put in his two cents worth soon.  “Who are we talking about again?”

“Rey, of course.”  At Kylo’s bewildered look, Hux folds the magazine and rolls his eyes.  “Oh, don’t act like this is the first time you’ve heard that name.  She’s the British model—you know, the one that’s making tidal waves.  She’s only been on the scene for two years and already she managed to book five or six shows last September at Paris Fashion Week, was the guest of honor at Tom Ford’s launch party in Carmel and has now nabbed herself a cover in _Vogue Italia_.  I’ve only been bringing her name up twice a day for the last week because I still think you should reconsider adding her to your show.”

“First of all,” Kylo starts, yanking down the photo of the dress adorned with strands of pearls—because the more he stares at it, it’s downright rubbish and honestly doesn’t need to see the light of day, “Tom Ford is a charlatan who doesn’t remotely deserve all the praise he gets, especially after disastrously thinking he could dip his hands in the film industry.  I mean, who even saw that piece of garbage?”

“A lot of people, actually,” Hux deadpans.  “Last I checked, _A Single Man_ has an 87% rating on Rotten Tomatoes and Colin Firth even won a BAFTA for his performance.”

Kylo runs a hand across his face and thinks it’s probably time for a shave, but that won’t happen until his lineup is complete.  He shuffles through the stack of discarded photos haphazardly strewn across his desk in hopes of replacing the number with pearls that he previously tore down.  “Whatever.  This girl could have a hundred accolades under her belt and my answer would still be no.  She’s too nice—too…commercial.  She just doesn’t have the right look for what I’m trying to achieve here.”

Hux moves to stand, buttoning the coat of his Armani jacket before approaching the other side of his superior’s desk.  “I wonder if _you_ even know what you’re trying to achieve.  You know, every six months you claim that something’s missing, but never manage to figure out what that is.  And yet, wonder of wonders, the show still ends up being a massive success because you’re Kylo freaking Ren.  People worship you—and because of that, you’ll always be guaranteed the final slot at NYFW.”

“But, that dress in my dream—”

“Is a dress on a faceless woman,” Hux interrupts, knowing by now how this story goes, “that you can’t seem to replicate on any fit model, so—not to rain on your parade—but you might want to closet that dream for now.  Besides, isn’t the color scheme of that dress…well, completely in opposition of the dark, foreboding style that people expect from you?”

One side of Kylo’s mouth attempts to grin—which is a bit off-putting, in Hux’s expert opinion.  “Since when have I ever cared about someone else’s expectations of me?”

Choosing this point in their conversation as the perfect moment to spring some unanticipated news on his boss, Hux folds his hands in front of him and begins to slowly back away toward the nearest exit.  Kylo’s temper tended to have a rather large radius, after all.  “Oh, you know, since your mother announced that she would be in town in February for Fashion Week.  And with that, I think I’ll head out and see to some fabric swatches.  Don’t forget about the NYC Ballet’s Winter Gala tomorrow night. I promised everyone you’d be there!”

Kylo tapers his emotions to focus on his aversion toward attending yet another gala full of pretentious donors who feel entitled enough to express their amateur opinions on the latest fashions.  It’s better, he thinks, to focus on _that_ than the other bit of news that would likely have him tearing up every sketch and photo in his office within minutes.

There’s no time for a meltdown.

After all, Fashion Week is only a month away.

\--

After two short years in the biz, Rey feels like a seasoned veteran in the sense that she’s no longer wide-eyed or overly enthusiastic about every gala and event she’s forced to attend.  Forced is really the operative word here, because even though she’d much rather be back in her cushy loft in Midtown in a pair of sweatpants and watching _Sabrina_ (the movie that made her fall in love with the Paris fashion scene), her agent reminds her that she’s still a ‘dilettante’ that must continue making connections and fielding opportunities whenever possible.

So, she performs her due diligence, posing on the red carpet with her friend and fellow model, Kaydel, before entering the cocktail reception area of the Koch Theater in Lincoln Center. 

She chides herself for bemoaning such a task when thousands of women would certainly kill to be in her shoes.  Rey loves her job—loves the clothes and the photoshoots and that little flutter of butterflies she gets before every runway show.  This world is, without a doubt, where she belongs and hopes to stay, but she supposes any job has its drawbacks.

The New York City Ballet Winter Gala is one of them.

What Kaydel tells her next is another.

“Oh my gosh,” she starts, completely beside herself as she hands Rey one of the glasses of champagne she snagged from the cute bartender.  “You’ll never guess who decided to grace everyone with his presence tonight.  Kylo Ren!”

In response, Rey tilts back the glass until she’s practically drained it.  “As if this night couldn’t get any worse.”  She then puts two and two together.  “That conniving little bitch!  You know, I think my agent knew Ren was confirmed to be here tonight…that’s why she was so desperate for me to attend.  She knows that Ren is my Mugatu.”

Kaydel winces.  “Yeah, I heard he didn’t cast you in his NYFW show…again.  Sorry, love.”

“I just don’t get it.”  The champagne’s already going straight to her head because all the fuss her team made to get her primped and primed for tonight had her too pressed for time to have lunch or dinner.  Rey is positively famished.  “It’s like the man has a vendetta against me or something—and I’ve never even met him!”

“Well,” her friend resolves after polishing off her own glass, “you’ve already acquired Jason Wu and Nicole Miller for the event.  So, let’s grab some more champagne, do some mingling and bat our eyelashes until you’ve sealed the deal with three more.  By the end of the night, we’ll have Kylo Ren begging to hire you.”

The first ballet performance is an ode to _West Side Story_ —which is an ode to _Romeo & Juliet_ and Rey has trouble wrapping her head around that concept.  The second performance, entitled _Rite of Spring_ , is so jarring that by the end Rey is crying.  Perhaps she feels a connection with the main character—a young woman fated to be a sacrificial lamb to the god of spring—or perhaps she should really ease up on the champagne because the finger foods set out during intermission aren’t doing a god damn thing.  Either way, Ulla Johnson sees the glistening tears in Rey’s eyes and proclaims right then and there that her show could use a bit of drama, and just like that she’s nabbed her fifth one.

“What did I tell you,” Kaydel says gleefully, linking her arm under Rey’s as they amble around the glitzy reception area.  “Designers are just eating out of the palm of your hand and all you have to do is stand in their line of vision.”

Rey has yet to stand in Kylo Ren’s line of vision, and this meager thought blossoms into her own twisted logic about how that is likely the reason why he hasn’t hired her.  Suddenly, without thought or consequence—the upshot of consuming copious amounts of alcohol—she’s pulling her friend across the room, eyes roaming like a predator until she’s found her prey.

_There you are_ , she thinks with a self-assured grin.

As soon as Kaydel realizes what they’re about to do, she tries to backtrack.  “Whoa there, tiger.  I’m not sure if now is the best time for you to talk to him.”

“Relax,” she responds, smiling beneath half-lidded eyes, “I’ve got this.  All I’m going to do is introduce myself so, you know, he remembers me in the future.”

Kaydel still looks skeptical but knows not to get in the way when her friend is determined to do something.  She decides to hang back a few feet, fearful of getting too close to the lion’s den herself.

The moment their eyes meet, she pounces on him.  “I would just like to let you know that I have booked five, count ‘em”—she pantomimes the number by flashing her left hand in front of his face—“ _five_ shows for NYFW.”

He folds his arms across his chest and gives her a once over.  “So, this is the illustrious Rey I’ve heard so much about.”

So, he does know her name…

Not that it matters of course, because she still has a bone to pick with him.  “That’s right.  And you’re the infamous Kylo Ren I’ve heard a little bit about.  Infamous, you know, because your name is synonymous with scandal and…well, that word is associated with bad people like Capone and Jack the Ripper.”

“Oh,” Kylo muses, his eyebrows receding into his hairline.  “I’m not sure I’ve ever been compared to a serial killer before.  You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not prepared with a more appropriate quip.”

She waves her hand dismissively, now fully aware that other people were previously conversing with Ren and are now all openly gaping at her.  “Whatever.  I just came to tell you that I don’t care that you didn’t book me.  Alright?  And I don’t care that you don’t think I’m pretty enough—”

“I never said that.”

“—and I don’t care that even Zoolander eventually did Mugatu’s _Derelicte_ —even though that campaign ended up being a front for an assassination attempt—but still…my point is…”

He leans forward, further proof that she’s got his rapt attention, and yet no other words come to her.  “Yes?”

Until they do. 

“Why won’t you hire me?” she asks—no, whimpers—bottom lip jutting out, eyes large and bright.  It’s almost child-like if it hadn’t been obvious from the start that this poor girl is drunk.  Before he can respond to her question, she’s rambling about anything that pops in her brain.  “Believe it or not, I’ve been following your designs from the start.  I used to idolize your grandfather’s runway shows—your grandmother, his muse, and how exquisitely apparent it was that those dresses were made for her as she’d strut down the catwalk with poise and elegance.”

“Rey, I—”

“So, when I discovered,” she continues, not wanting the man to get a word in edgewise, “that Skywalker’s grandson was to join the ranks, I thought your collections might be worth taking a look at.  And then I remained an avid fan not because of your legacy but because of how transcendent your designs were.  It never seemed to be about clothes for you.  It was about deep-seated emotions conveyed through art.”

Since joining the fashion world nearly seven years ago, Kylo has never once heard someone describe his work that way.  He’s even more astonished that she can describe it so eloquently given her current state of inebriation.  “I don’t know what to say.”

Rey could feel herself start to slowly sober up, the reality of what she had done—is still doing—hitting her in the face like a massive ton of bricks.  Time to escape.  “Well, you don’t have to say anything at all but just know that you would not be disappointed if you ever did consider hiring me because I work hard and I would do _anything_ to be in one of your shows…I mean, not anything…like I’m not saying I would sleep with you or anything like that…oh, god.  I need to go die now.”  

She turns around to reach for her friend—the skirt of her black and blue Oscar de la Renta dress billowing behind her—and leaving a stunned Kylo Ren in her wake.

\--

Later that night, Kylo dreams of the phantom dress.  It’s just like every night, except…

Instead of a faceless woman, he sees Rey.

He wakes with a start.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...it's definitely three chapters now. This story line just started forming itself at this point. Hope you like this one!

“Don’t give me that look.”

“What look?” 

And though Armitage Hux is skilled at many things, hiding his self-satisfied smirk is not one of them. 

“This isn’t what you think it is,” Kylo is quick to say.  He feels the need to justify his actions, so that this won’t be fuel for the man’s growing speculations.  “I’m simply giving the girl an audition.  For all we know, this will just end up proving that I was right about my initial opinion of her.”

“Of course,” Hux replies, but instead of appearing to agree with Kylo’s justification, there’s a hint of mischief in his voice and suddenly Kylo regrets involving the man in the first place.  “It is peculiar, though, how three days ago you were adamantly saying ‘no’ to the girl, yet a brief exchange of words at the gala somehow landed her an audition.  I can’t help but wonder what she said that made you change your mind so abruptly.”

Kylo shakes his head amidst crossing some t’s and dotting a few i’s.  Opening night for NYFW was only 23 days away and there was still so much to be done.  “I find it hard to believe that one of your loyal, twittering birds hasn’t relayed every detail of the conversation to you.”

Hux leans against the edge of Kylo’s desk and lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, none of them were actually close enough to hear what was being said so all I’ve been able to piece together is that this Rey girl has no qualms with speaking her mind and that you might’ve watched her walk away for a little longer than was necessary.  I say ‘walk’, but I should really say ‘wobble’ because I also heard that she was rightly sloshed during the course of it.”

Kylo is, fortunately, saved from responding to Hux’s assessment as the buzzer sounds, causing both men to shift their gazes toward the intercom on his desk.

“Mr. Ren,” his secretary’s voice drones through the speaker.  “Your 11:30am appointment is here.”

He can’t decide if he’s eager to see her or simply eager to get this audition over with.  “Send her in.”  More than anything, he’s eager to put an end to their previous conversation. 

It’s a relief when Hux moves to introduce himself to Rey first, offering Kylo a small window of time to mull over how best to greet the girl—now looking the part of youthful sophistication in a whimsical Kate Spade blouse and a black peplum pencil skirt, complete with a pair of black suede and lace-detailed Manolo Blahnik pumps.  This window of time and observation, however, does not afford Kylo Ren a lesson in demonstrating tact.

“Thank you for coming, Rey.  I hope this isn’t too early for you.  I wasn’t entirely sure if you’d be fresh off another one of your late-night bingers.”

Rey’s responding smile is tight-lipped.  “I’m fine.  Thank you so much for that harrowing reminder of our introduction.”

He waves the pen he’s holding with an air of nonchalance.  “Formalities in the fashion industry are a thing of the past, and as much I would love to continue poking fun at your public indiscretion, the fact of the matter is that we’ve all been there.  That’s what happens when we’re forced to attend these tedious functions with nothing else but the promise of complimentary spirits.”

“He’s not wrong,” Hux agrees.  “Why, I vividly remember a young, up-and-coming designer scaling a tree at Tommy Hilfiger’s 60th birthday celebration, proclaiming to an enthusiastic and equally drunk crowd that ‘Vader ain’t from shit’ and that he was going to ‘rule the industry one—”

“So, why don’t we get right down to business then,” Kylo intervenes, shooting a menacing glare at his employee.  Though a change in topic is certainly needed, the task of what he must ask her to do next is surprisingly daunting.  He clears his throat, tugging at the collar of his black button-up.  “Rey, please make your way to that raised platform over there and remove your clothes.”

At once, she looks startled and—dare he believe it—nervous.  “Excuse me?”

“This can’t be your first rodeo, Rey,” he replies, deciding it would be easier for him not to look her in the eye anymore.  Her makeup is minimal and in the natural daylight his office provides he can actually see her eyes—light brown irises that sparkle like stones of amber.  He pretends to carefully scrutinize the projected list of events and shows that was faxed over from Spring Studios this morning.  “Just, um, take off your clothes so Hux can put you in the first sample dress.  I can already tell from your height and waist, that it will need some serious tailoring if we’re going to try to make it work.”

His response, however, does not immediately entice her to do as she’s bid.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Ren, but I thought I was auditioning for the runway…not to be your fit model.”  She says the last part with disdain, not as if being a fit model is in anyway beneath her, but as if his suggestion only affirms what she had previously made of his character.

He doesn’t quite know what it is about her combative nature that makes him rise to the challenge, but he’s essentially powerless to fight it.

“For being such an avid fan,” he starts, throwing her own words back at her, “I would think you’d already be familiar with how my model selection works.  Armitage?”

At his boss’ beckoning, Hux goes into what sounds like a rehearsed speech.  “Kylo Ren not only demands perfection in his designs but also in the models that showcase them.  Every article of clothing that is of his own creation, must look as if it was made for the person wearing it.  Once he finds a design that suits y—”  Kylo purposefully clears his throat.  “Apologies.  _If_ he finds a design that suits you, it will be tailored to your exact measurements.”

Kylo chances a glance in Rey’s direction, only to find her openly sizing him up.  She knows she’s being bated and, from the looks of things, she’s ready to make her next move.  “Very well,” she says with a sense of finality, walking with purpose to the aforementioned platform and mechanically unbuttoning her blouse.  “Let’s get this puppet show started, shall we?”

\--

As far as breasts go, Rey’s are…well, fine. 

The thing is, in his line of work, Kylo’s likely seen more of those shapely mounds of flesh than many people could rightly dream of; and, in some ways, they’ve lost their appeal to him.   He still appreciates the overall aesthetic of breasts—like how a corset accentuates their fullness or how the plunging neckline of a sheath dress often exposes their natural curvature—but, as far as personal preference is concerned, Kylo’s pleasures have always been more…emotive than visual.

Which is probably why he’s so effected, instead, by the way she holds herself on that mirrored pulpit—shoulders marginally folded in on themselves as Hux begins to help her into the dress, her elongated neck so rigid that the slightest move or sound would have her throwing up her metaphorical shields.  He see’s vulnerability in her posture, but also a staunch conviction of morals; and given that she has refused to look at him since she unhooked her bra, he can’t help but wonder if he has anything to do with it.

“No,” Kylo says after Hux has pinned the waist and adjusted the hem of the floor-length gown with a geometrical and beaded neckline.  He’s pacing—as he is wont to do—his thoughtful gaze shifting from her to the three different angles of her that the mirrors provide.  “It doesn’t work.  Take it off immediately.”

The next dress is a strapless number fitted with a hard-lined corset and a sheer asymmetrical skirt that parts up her left thigh.  Hux works his magic and then—

“No.  This one’s not right either.  Next.”

Rey’s hands find her hips, eyes narrowed on the stubborn man.  “Why don’t I save us all the trouble from going through the motions, because you and I both know that you’re never going to find a dress that you ‘think’ suits me.  To which point you’ll cleverly quip that ‘perhaps it’s not the dress, but the girl’ and I’ll take that as my cue to leave.  Sound accurate so far?”

She thinks she knows him.  They’ve only just met and this brash, insecure, contradiction of a girl presumes to know what he’s thinking even before he’s thought it himself.  He wants to prove her wrong.  Actually, he wants to prove everyone wrong.  “Only partially accurate.  It’s very likely that none of these dresses will suit what I have in my head for you, so we’ll just have to start from scratch.  Can you be here at 9am tomorrow?”

Kylo heads to his desk to check his calendar to see which appointment his secretary will have to move around to fit her in.  Meanwhile, Hux and Rey are still too stunned to speak.

His redheaded friend, of course, can never stay silent for long.  “That, uh, seems a bit ambitious—even for you, Kylo.  After all, we’re only three weeks away from opening night.”

“Which is why we must start right away.”  He looks back at Rey.  “So, what do you say?  Tomorrow?  9am?”

She shakes her head, not in disagreement but to shake out the muddle that seemed to be previously clouding her thoughts.  “Um…yes.  I’ll be here.”

Rey then changes back into her original clothes, bids Kylo adieu with a mere nod of her head and is out the door.

“What the hell was that all about?” Hux cries out as soon as she’s gone, never one to hold back his censure from his boss—intimidating as the man may be.  “Start from scratch?  What you’re proposing is madness.  You simply don’t have the time.”

Kylo clasps his frazzled employee on the shoulder.  “Then, you’ll just have to help me make the time.”

\--

When Rey comes back the next morning, they’re alone.  She knows that a part of her should feel unnerved by that fact, but she’s not.  It’s actually quite exhilarating to witness his creative process at work—and for her, nonetheless!  Well, not ‘for’ her, of course.  Rey has to continually remind herself that she is merely the canvas for his masterpiece.

And NOT the inspiration.

She’s wearing a white tank top and her Roberto Cavalli skinny jeans this time, her go-to outfit when getting measurements done because it’s comfortable and they act like a second skin.  The flats she wore, however, are quickly discarded and replaced by a pair of black Louboutins Kylo had lying around, because he ‘needs a visual’ of the design he hopes to create and is quickly getting out his sketchbook and positioning her on the platform.

She tries to stand as still as possible, one hand at her waist and her head tilted up as she stares at some fixed spot in the ceiling.  It’s reminiscent of an age-old aristocrat getting her portrait done and she can’t help but smile at the thought.

“Don’t.”

Without moving her head, her eyes find his.  “Don’t what?  Smile?  How thoughtless of me to not realize that smiling doesn’t fit in with your macabre vision.”

Rey can see his jaw tick at her words before his pencil starts rapidly moving again.  “Are you normally this abrasive with people you hardly know?”

“Actually,” she admits, “I was just asking myself a similar question because even though I’ve worked with no shortage of difficult designers, you’re the only one that makes me act so…defiant.”

Instead of a jaw tick, Rey swears she sees one side of his mouth slant upward.  “Well, now that you’re aware of your uncharacteristic insubordination, do you think you can tone it down a bit?”

“That’s the thing—I don’t think so.”  And with comments like that, how could she?  “It’s kind of subconscious at this point.”

“Fair enough,” he says, getting up from the chair he had positioned in the middle of the room to place the sketchbook and pencil back on his desk.  “You can relax now.”

After doing so, Rey watches as the celebrated designer grabs a tape measure, strides over until he’s so close his breath could be felt against her forehead and wraps the tape around her waist—fingers grazing the soft material of her tank top.

And just like that, she’s holding her breath, every muscle in her body immobilizing.

“I said you can relax.”

 _Shit_.  “Right.”  She mentally instructs herself to do so, trying her best to breathe evenly as her eyes search for anything to focus on that isn’t him.  God, the effect this man had on her was positively mystifying.  One minute she feels the blood pulse in her veins as she verbally abuses him and the next she’s like a cat in heat, ready to let him have his way with her.

Well, okay, the second part isn’t really news.  She may have had a bit of a crush on Kylo Ren when he first came on the scene, but, honestly, everyone did.  His Darcy-esque snobbery turned more than few of those heads away, but that never stopped Rey from hoping to one day work with him.

And it really isn’t helping that Kylo’s now kneeling in front of her, his dark locks so close to where her hand is resting that all she can think about is how it would feel to run her fingers through them.  And then she’s thinking about something else because the tape is now sliding up the inside of her jeans until his fingers brush against the apex of her thigh as he measures her inseam.

His movements are agonizingly slow as he travels along the seam of her other pant leg—but whether it’s all in her mind or intentional on his part, she’s not entirely sure. 

“Shouldn’t you be writing those numbers down?” she asks, mostly to distract herself from what’s happening.

“I have a photographic memory,” he replies, and Rey thinks she can’t be imagining the rough edge to his voice.

The air is palpable and as he glances up at her, eyes dark yet burning with an intensity she has never seen before, she knows that just the slightest move on her part would have them both tumbling into something neither one of them will be able to come back from.

Her breath hitches in anticipation—

And then the buzzer rings.

Kylo springs up and moves toward his desk so fast Rey hardly has time to register that he’s gone.

“Mr. Ren, you 10:30am appointment is here.”

He pushes a button to reply.  “I’m not quite done in here.  Please tell them to wait.”

“But, Mr. Ren, Mr. Gualtier doesn’t have a lot of—”

“I said, tell him to wait.”  He doesn’t raise his voice but remains firm in his command. 

A few seconds later, the tape measure is no longer in his hands—and to be honest, she can’t quite remember if he completed the measurements or not—now replaced by a swatch of fabrics in monochromes of pink and gold.  He picks out a square and lays it flat against her clavicle, in what she assumes will help him decide which ones best compliment her skin tone.

He’s on edge now and she knows that talking will likely make matters worse, but she can’t help but notice that something is off about what he’s doing.

“Those, uh, colors,” she starts, as he moves to grab a square of velvet in a hue of rose gold, “are in stark contrast to what I’ve normally seen of your designs.  I was under the impression that you worked almost exclusively in blacks and reds.”

Kylo lets out a short puff of air.  “Are you questioning my vision?”

“No, of course not!” she’s quick to contradict, and then does something that is far bolder than she would typical ever dare.  Rey grabs Kylo’s chin so that he is forced to look upon her, hoping to convey all the sincerity she feels in this one look.  “I just want you to be sure that this is _your_ vision…and that you’re not molding it into something else to suit me.”

It takes him a while to respond, but his eyes begin to soften as she feels the muscles in his face relax beneath her hand.  “Can’t they be both?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear my brain likes to conspire against me. Just when I think I have a plot line all figured out, I'm driving to work and my brain is like "yeah, that would be cool, but what if you did this instead?" and then I have to add in a whole other chapter. So, yeah. Thanks, brain. Also, thanks to everyone for reviewing because you're partially the reason why I've extended it! Toodles!

The week leading up to NYFW is often referred by those in the industry as ‘the days of Abaddon’.  It is when designers, event coordinators, stylists, and even the managers of Manhattan’s finest shops have their limits tested—pouring blood, sweat and tears into tasks that need completing and demands that must be met.  It is when buyers and journalists start to feel like kings amongst men as the show invitations come flooding in, briefly basking in the glory of having these designers’ fates rest in their tiny PalmPilots.  It is when this beautiful and revered city must crawl through the muck to reach the light at the end of the tunnel—or, otherwise, perish into chaos and self-destruction.

It is also, oddly enough, when Armitage Hux finds himself doing more math than he ever thought he would have to do since graduating high school.   

Case in point: Kylo’s budget for the show was set at $600,000.  After factoring in the cost of the venue, hair & makeup stylists (which went up this year since Kylo was determined to steal Pat McGrath from Tom Ford—petty grudges and what not), models, and PR, Hux was left with $185,000 to entice a few editors-in-chief (he prayed Anna Wintour would have no cause to bow out again) and celebrities to fill up the front row.  Runways were all about appearances, after all.

The invitations were set.  The appropriate ratio of stylists to models to designs had been confirmed.  The days of Abaddon seemed to be a thing of the past considering all of Hux’s preparations were operating very smoothly.

Well, almost all of them.

It’s T-minus two days till opening night and the ostentatious ginger is begrudgingly making his way to Kylo’s Park Ave Penthouse, under the pretense of getting the updated seating chart approved.  He knows Kylo doesn’t care.  He’s not nearly as concerned with whether the editor-in-chief of Vogue will attend his runway show as much as the rest of the world is, but Hux needs an excuse for showing up to the man’s apartment unannounced and this was the best he could come up with.

Riding the elevator to the top floor, Hux stews over a single thought.  A number, actually.   _Twelve_. 

Because that’s the number of fitting sessions Kylo has now had with Rey since he began his slow descent into madness three weeks ago.  _Twelve_ —the number of appointments with NYFW reps and stylists and potential buyers that Kylo has dismissed out of hand to squeeze in some time with the girl.  _Twelve_ —the number of meetings Hux added to his already packed schedule because none of them could very well be cancelled this close to the show deadline.

It’s one thing to act as the occasional liaison.  It’s something else entirely when Kylo’s marked absence has everyone creating outlandish speculations with regard to his whereabouts.

_I heard he’s in rehab._

_I heard he’s been forced to take those anger management classes again._

_The man’s so elusive these days, it’s as if he’s died…good god!  He hasn’t, has he?_

Hux was done making polite apologies and pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes.  With one of the most publicized weeks in fashion upon them, Kylo Ren—New York’s hottest, most sought-after designer—would have to start making more of a presence.  He needed to stop spending so much time with Rey and stop fussing over that goddamn dress.

And Armitage Hux had to be the one to tell him so.

Exiting the elevator, fully prepared to make his peace and suffer the potential consequences of his slanderous actions, Hux stops short of knocking on the door when he hears laughter.  Distinctly feminine, it starts as a giggle and bubbles into a full-on guffaw.  “Oh my god! Ben!”

Hux freezes.  His eyes bulge.  His teeth are clenched.  So, _this_ is why Kylo cancelled this morning’s meeting with the buyer from Top Shop— _because apparently_ , he thinks bitingly, _getting your rocks off with your flavor of the month is more important than hashing out the logistics of a potential million-dollar deal!_

_Now_ , it’s not enough for Hux to just confront his boss.  _Now_ , he’s hellbent on embarrassing the man.  From the left pocket of his navy-blue Hugo Boss jacket, he pulls out the penthouse key Kylo had previously bestowed upon him—under strict orders to use it only for emergencies or to water his plants when he was away.

Catching Kylo _in flagrante delicto_ with one of his models days before NYFW, Hux decides, seems like a pretty legitimate emergency.

He swallows his disgust at having to witness the pair in a more than compromising position—reminding himself that this is the necessary thing to do—puts the key in the lock and opens the door to find—

To find—

Actually, Hux isn’t entirely sure if what he’s looking at is real, because the scene before him is so utterly bizarre that the combined efforts of sleep deprivation and drinking his weight in cappuccinos might have finally induced hallucinations. 

In the middle of the living room, Rey stands on a stool in an ivory corset bodysuit and matching crinoline petticoat, exposed in the front, the chapel train hem pinned so that it just barely touches the ground. Her hand is on Kylo’s shoulder for balance, his delicate ministrations on the petticoat halted as he looks up at her.  All of this would’ve been fine—would’ve appeared perfectly normally—if Kylo Ren wasn’t FUCKING SMILING AT HER!

In all the years Hux has worked for the designer, never once has he seen evidence of the man’s ability to smile.  A small upward turn of his lips to feign politeness?  Sure.  A smirk?  Definitely.  But an honest-to-god, genuine smile that shows his dimples, slightly crooked teeth and all?

Well, that was simply unheard of.  Every single one of his acquaintances would likely sign an affidavit to that effect.

“Oh!  Hello, Armitage!” Rey greets cheerfully—as if they hadn’t seen each other less than 48 hours ago.  As if the image in front of his eyes is perfectly commonplace in all of its sickeningly domesticated glory.

He should probably return the acknowledgment instead of openly gaping at the pair.  They’re both observing him now, Kylo’s face having transformed into a look of relaxed complacence, so maybe he _was_ hallucinating…though probably not. 

“Rey,” he says with a curt nod before turning to his boss.  “Kylo, I, uh, apologize for bursting in on you at home but I wasn’t sure when you’d be back at the office and I need your approval for the, uh, seating chart.”

Deeming this matter insignificant, Kylo returns his attentions on the petticoat, pinning a section at the top to flair out Rey’s hips in a very Marie Antoinette fashion.  “I’m sure it’s fine, so long as you didn’t seat my mother anywhere near Steven Meisel.”

“Of course, I didn’t, but if you could just—”

“Why is there bad blood between your mother and Meisel?” Rey intervenes, desperate for the scoop.  “I actually got to work with him for my Vogue Italia cover shoot and he was beyond brilliant and such a sweetheart.”

“I’m sure he was, but Kylo, I must insist—”

“Well, let’s just say that many years ago he approved a photo of my mother for _Interview_ magazine that she found less than flattering and she has yet to forgive him for it.”

_Good god._   And just like that, he’s invisible.  If Hux simply turned around and walked out of the penthouse apartment right now, there was a good chance that neither one of them would notice.

Rey’s shoulders droop sympathetically.  “Ugh.  I know what that’s like.  Come to think of it, last November I—”

“FOR GOD’S SAKE, KYLO!” Hux bellows, because all it takes is one straw to break the camel’s back, “JUST LOOK AT THE FUCKING SEATING CHART!”

The pin wedged between Kylo’s lips falls to the floor as they both stare in surprise at the newest occupant—and if it wasn’t for Hux’s stammering heart, he would’ve likely heard the reed-like object clatter against the mahogany flooring in the incumbent silence.  He didn’t mean to snap.  He really didn’t.  But there’s no use troubling himself with the whys or what ifs. 

The air is rife with an unspoken tension and, for the longest time it feels like nobody is willing to take the plunge and speak first.  However, Kylo finally does. 

“Rey, I think that should do it.  Go ahead and change back into your clothes and just leave the undergarments on the hanger over the door.”  He helps Rey down off the stool so that she can retrieve her backpack and head down the hall toward the guest bathroom—with the familiarity of someone who has been here before, Hux feels inclined to note.

He prepares himself for Kylo’s wrath, but it never comes.  Instead, the man falls into another silence as he contemplates his next words very carefully.

But Hux can’t wait a moment longer.  “Have you completely lost your senses?”  It is asked like a whisper so that Rey’s prying ears can’t listen in, though he is sure to let his fury be felt in other ways.

“It’s possible,” is all the designer will give him, at first, infuriating the ginger even more.

Hux inadvertently runs a hand through his hair, realizing his folly too late as the hardened gel starts to break apart and ruin the previously perfect placement of each strand.  “I mean, you have to know how strange this all looks.  And she’s calling you ‘Ben’, for Christ’s sake!”

He shrugs.  “She asked about my family, so I told her.”

“Because that’s information you’re so comfortable sharing?  Listen, Kylo, I tolerated quite a damn lot over the years, primarily because I believed in your vision and appreciated the role I played in making that vision a reality.”  Kylo moves to set his pin cushion down on the kitchen island before leaning his back against it—giving Hux his full attention.  “But I won’t tolerate this little crush of yours, especially since it’s interfering with your work.”

Kylo opens his mouth to reply, but there’s more to be said; and if Hux doesn’t say it now he may lose his nerve completely.

“People are talking,” he continues, stepping around the stool to pace the expansive living room that faces the sleek kitchen.  “I’ve obviously been trying my best to subdue everyone’s fanciful ideas as to what you’ve been up to all this time, been there’s only so much I can do.  If you care about this company that you’ve spent seven years building up, then you’ll stop fixating on this dress—which, from the looks of things, isn’t nearly finished—and start acting like the public fashion mogul everyone is counting on!  And while you’re at, you should really get over this little crush you have on the girl.  It’s not meant to last.”

As soon as Kylo has made certain Hux has said all, he replies in turn.  “It’s not a crush.” 

This isn’t really the response Hux is looking for, but he hopes it means that this thing with Rey is a non-issue and that things will be getting back to normal soon.

His hopes, however, are immediately dashed.

“I think I’m in love with her.”

That’s when the room starts spinning.  Hux locates the stool and sits down so that his sudden case of vertigo might stop.  “No.  No, you’re not,” he says, shaking his head vehemently.  “You only think that because of the dress and the dream—and, well, you can’t fall in love with someone you met less than a month ago.  You just can’t.”

Per usual, Kylo ignores Hux’s logic.  “I think the dreams were trying to tell me something—something that had to do with more than just a design.  The images were always faceless because I hadn’t met Rey yet.  Don’t you see, Hux?”

“I see that you’ve become so delusional that you’ve convinced yourself that you’re living out the plot of a Hallmark movie,” he deadpans.  “I mean, do you even know if she returns these so-called feelings of yours?”

His silence tells him no and he’s thankful to get a reprieve from this excruciating conversation because Rey returns, having finally changed back into her daywear—a black turtleneck crop top, red Burberry trousers, and a pair of ballet flats.  Kylo seems just as happy to put an end to their previous discussion, all of his focus returning to the girl in question.

“You said you need one more fitting, right?” she asks, rocking on the heels of her shoes.

Kylo nods.  “The final fitting.  Let’s schedule it for next Monday so I can have 48 hours to make any necessary alterations.”

“I have Jason Wu’s runway at 10am that day, but I’m sure I’ll have time later.”  There’s a long pause in which they just stare at each other—Hux’s gag reflex slowly kicking in—and then she adds, “So, I won’t see you for a whole week then.  That feels…I don’t know, weird.”

He smiles and, yeah, Hux can’t take much more of this.  “I’m sure our paths will cross.  In fact, were you planning on attending the Bvlgari Rooftop Party opening night?”

“Possibly,” she replies, employing the classic feminine tactic of not appearing overly eager.  “I’ll have to talk to my team about procuring a dress.”

Kylo puts up a hand.  “Say no more.  It would be my honor to pick out your dress for the evening.  I’m thinking something metallic and preferably backless.”

“Ben, no,” she chides, giving him a stern look, though a hint of her playful smile remains.  “You have too much to do and Maz would be crushed if she didn’t have that ‘honor’ herself.  I promise not to show up in rags though.”

Hux can see that Kylo wants to fight it, but after a moment of silent simmering, he eventually concedes.  “Very well.”  He reaches for her hand and kisses it, like a knight bidding his princess farewell.  “Until then.”

Hux rolls his eyes, keenly aware that this has disaster written all over it.

\--

The first day of fashion week is officially underway.  Apart from a 1pm lunch with Anna Sui and wanting to check out the new talent at Gallery II, Kylo’s calendar is relatively vacant.  It feels good to just recline in the comfort of his office, thanks in no small part to his right-hand man.  Hux has been instrumental in getting everything set up for this week, and since he knows this, he’s already pondering in what grand way he wishes to eventually thank the man.

They have time for that.  For now, though, Kylo is simply content to just sit in his cushy office chair and flip through photos on his tablet—photos that the paparazzi took of him and Rey at the rooftop party.

She looked so stunning in that dress, and even though she didn’t let him choose it for her, he was glad to have a hand in its design—a silver halter top number that revealed everything from her shoulder blades down to the cute little dimple at the base of her spine.  It would’ve been enough to simply be in awe of her beauty, a beauty that transcended time and reminded him of the Hollywood starlets of old.  These photos, however, were even more spellbinding because of the way she was looking at him.

He knows he isn’t alone in this.  There is no doubt that some unspoken connection exists between them and, honestly, it’s about time he breaks that silence.

Kylo is studying the photo of them talking with Rey’s friend, Kydel—the one where his hand nestled against the curve of Rey’s spine and her eyes sparkled with such joy as he had never previously felt—when Hux walks in.

“Oh, good, you’ve seen it.”

“Hmm?” Kylo mumbles, having not fully returned to the present just yet.

Hux rounds the desk, throwing a stack of files onto it.  “The article Entertainment Weekly published.  I assume that’s what you’re looking at.”

“There’s an article?  I only see pictures.”

“Yes, there’s an article,” he affirms, unwilling at this stage to disguise his constant need to roll his eyes at Kylo.  Hux then swipes across the screen and an article pulls up titled ‘Sparks Fly as Fashion Week Commences’. 

“So, what?  I figured these rumors would start sooner or later.”

This causes Hux to wince.  “Yeah, but this one’s a little harsh.  The journalist has a source that knows Rey’s the headlining model for your show and may have made some…implications as to how that came to be.”

“Well, they’re wrong,” Kylo says firmly, not wanting to read another word of the defamatory article as he sets the tablet back on his desk.  “I know it.  Rey knows it.  We’ll get it straightened out if we need to.”

Hux then picks up the tablet to pull up a different screen.  “You may want to straighten it out sooner than later because something tells me Rey’s already seen it.”

He shows Kylo an Instagram video posted 30 minutes ago of footage from Ulla Johnson’s show.  In it, Rey is stalking down the runway in a bohemian chic peasant top with wide-legged linen pants and she looks…well, she looks completely out of her element.  As if the look on her face wasn’t enough to concern Kylo, a moment later the heels she’s wearing begin to wobble, forcing her to flail her arms for a second to right herself.

This is bad.  This is VERY bad.

Kylo stands abruptly, the momentum forcing his desk chair to fly back and slam against the wall.  “Call the car around and have him take me to Gallery I.  Now!”

\--

Hair brushed out, make up removed, and back in her street clothes, Rey exits the backstage dressing room of Gallery I—

To find Kylo patiently waiting for her.  The first thing she notices is that his eyes are sad.

“You saw it then.”  So are hers, rimmed red from old tears and the threat of new ones.

“Rey, this isn’t as bad as it seems.  If we just—”

But she stops him, because she can’t have this conversation.  Not now.  She needs time to process everything that has led her to this exact moment.  “Don’t do this, Ben.  Please, don’t try to reason your way through what happened out there.  It was my mistake and I fully intend to owe up to it.  Right now, I just want to go home.”

As she attempts to walk away, he steps forward as if reaching for her—and perhaps a small part of her brain wants the comfort he seems willing to provide.  But in light of recent events, she knows that maintaining her distance from him would be best for everyone involved.  “I mean it.  I’m going home.  If you…if you still want me in your show, then I’ll see you Monday for the fitting.”

Rey nudges her way around Ben and is pleased to find that he gives her the space she needs, eventually making it out the back door and into the fresh twilight air on her own.

At least, she thinks this is what she needs.  It’s hard to be sure when all she wants to do is turn around and run into his awaiting arms.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know I said one more, but this scene went longer than I thought so I split it up but I SWEAR there's only one more chapter after this. It's understandable if you don't trust me. I've lied with every post.
> 
> This also took me a bit longer to finish because my brain has been all Avengers all week and now that I've seen the movie it hasn't stopped, so if anyone wants to talk infinity wars with me, hit me up on tumblr!
> 
> http://rightplacewrongsandwich.tumblr.com/

It is no small secret that though his designs have made a perennial impression on the fashion world, people in the industry tend to collectively sigh when Kylo Ren is brought up in casual conversation.

They are none too shy to speak frankly about him either.

\--“The man’s such a contradiction.  As the descendant of Vader and Padme, he clearly thinks he can walk on water, but anyone foolish enough to mention either one of his grandparents’ names in his presence will have the misfortune of watching Lucifer rise from the ashes.”--

\--“I’m pretty sure he’s allergic to any fabric that isn’t primarily black.  It’s like, okay, your ‘Victorian Underworld’ motif was cute at first, but there’s no need to go all Norman Bates on me just because the samples of imported silk I showed you only came in magenta and viridian.”--

\--“He’s impulsive and impatient and I refuse to ever work with him again!”--

None of these astute individuals, however, prepared Rey for what eventually became her interpretation of the man.

_He’s arrogant and persistent and…fuck, I can’t get him out of my head._

Persistent is right.  It’s only been a few hours since she left him in the gallery and try as she might to get the tall, brooding genius out of her head—with the help of her dear friend, Netflix—it proves to be rather difficult the moment he shows up to her loft and bangs on the door.

Is he really that thick?  Did he not take the hint that she wanted to be left alone?

In his defense, she never actually said those words to him.  She said she wanted to go home, but she never said he couldn’t follow, and perhaps, subconsciously, she secretly hoped he would…

Now, if only her subconscious had the foresight to warn her of this possibility, because then she wouldn’t be bemoaning her appearance in the hallway mirror—hastily removing the messy bun her hair was in, pinching her cheeks to give them a little color, and resigning herself to the fact that she doesn’t have time to change and is now stuck greeting Kylo Ren in her ratty, old Garfield pajamas.

“Kylo, what are you doing here?” she asks, incensed and having cracked the door open just enough to peek her head out.  Maybe there is a way around him witnessing her wardrobe faux pas after all.  “If you’re here to talk about what happened today, I really don’t want to.  Can we do this tomorrow?”

He shakes his head, hands shoved in the front pockets of his Ralph Lauren double-breasted wool peacoat.  “I’ve never been a fan of sleeping on a much-needed conversation.  Having too much time to think about something only makes it easier to bury difficult truths.”

“Yes, well, confronting difficult truths with you will probably give me a migraine, so—”

“Or,” he proposes conversely, “unburdening yourself might actually ease the tension and make you feel better.  Contrary to what you may have heard, I’m a rather astounding listener when I want to be.”

When he wants to be?  How sanctimonious of him.  Yes, this conversation is definitely not happening right now. 

She is about to tell him as much when his thoughts refract.  “Is that _Sabrina_?”  And instead of waiting for her reply, he pushes the door open and barrels his way into her living room to see if his assumption is correct.  “I used to love this movie.  I watched it a lot with my mom growing up.  Have you seen the remake?  Harrison Ford doesn’t hold a candle to Bogie, don’t you think?”

“Yes, please make yourself at home, Kylo,” she says sardonically, ignoring his question and folding her arms across her chest to hide the image emblazoned on her t-shirt of Garfield the cat shoveling lasagna in his mouth.  Good god, could this day get any worse?

He turns away from her, hands fisting the ledge of her couch as he attempts to reign in his growing frustration.  “A few hours ago, you had no problem calling me Ben.”

“And in that time since I’ve considered my actions carefully and now feel that it was inappropriate for me to do so.  Seeing as we have a professional relationship, it’s only right that I refer to you by your professional moniker.”

“Professional relationship?” he repeats.  The words sound bitter coming from his lips.  “Is that what you think we have?”

Rey crosses to the other end of the couch thinking that her worst fears have now come to fruition.  “I—at least, I had hoped that would continue to be the case.  I understand that my snafu on the runway today likely shattered your confidence in me, but I promise that I take my job seriously and it’ll never happen—”

“Jesus Christ, Rey, I’m not here to fire you!”  There’s a beautiful candor in the way he takes offense at her suggestion and that’s when she realizes that she might’ve misread the entire situation.  “I came to see you earlier—and now—because I was concerned—about you, about the article and, selfishly, about whether you blamed me for its inception.”

The headshake she gives him is brief but fervent.  “Of course, I didn’t blame you.  If anything, I blamed myself.  But then I thought about it some more and remembered that this stupid shit gets posted all the time because those goddamn social media vultures just can’t help themselves!  It just…it makes me so furious that a few innocent photos have them assuming that we’re sleeping together when we’ve never even so much as kissed!”

“Well, that much, at least, I can rectify,” he says before reaching for her face and closing the distance between them. 

Rey’s first thought is that his lips are even softer than they look, so plump that they easily dwarf hers.  There’s a part of her brain that knows this shouldn’t be happening, but the other part—the part that is fully aware it’s been ages since she last got laid—is so focused on his mouth and how it parts so that the tip of his tongue can trace her upper lip, that if she wasn’t leaning against the back of the couch she would’ve been a boneless heap on the floor by now.

That’s all it takes for Rey to respond to the kiss, to move in tandem with his lips and his tongue.  To snake her hands up his broad chest and into his hair—that fucking hair that taunted her every time she saw him drag his lithe fingers through it, lost in concentration as he made alterations to the dress.  To lift up on her toes so that their faces are level, their hips are flush and, god, she needs to maneuver them in the direction of the bedroom right now otherwise she might—

 _Wait_ —

 _Shit_.  What the hell was she thinking?  In truth, she wasn’t.  All rational thought seemed to vanish the moment his lips were on hers.  Now that it’s slowly returning, however, Rey manages to tilt her head to the side to break contact.  This only entices Kylo to leave a trail of kisses along her jaw before sucking on the sensitive flesh near her pulse point.  She reluctantly removes her hands from his hair and pushes him away.  “Kylo, stop.”

“What?  Why?”  He’s bewildered and breathless and so goddamn sexy in his debauched state that it takes every ounce of her willpower not to have her way with him in the middle of this very living room, potential consequences be damned.

But there _will_ be consequences.  There already have been, she thinks, as she remembers the article and how those harsh words affected her so much that it nearly ruined her career.  And it still could!  This was only day one of fashion week, after all.

Rey avoids his gaze and stares at the ground.  “Because kissing me won’t ‘rectify’ anything.  It only proves that entertainment reporter was right about me which means that in addition to the hate I already receive in my profession, I’ll now be dubbed the slut that sleeps around to get her spot on the runway.”

He looks incredulous.  “No, that’s not what I—”

“Obviously it’s not true,” she continues, ignoring his attempt at a rebuttal.  “But the media will find a way to spin it in that direction.  And they aren’t the only ones we have to worry about.  Armitage is already suspicious of the amount of time you’ve spent with me and on that dress.  You’ve told me yourself about his penchant for gossip, so it’s only a matter of time before the whispers and the judgmental stares start to follow me everywhere.”

He doesn’t try to interject this time and she has a sinking feeling that it’s because she’s right.

“I wish,” she adds, fretfully picking at a loose seam on the cobalt blue upholstery of the seat cushion closest to her, “that there was a way to make this all go away, you know?  To hit the restart button so I could, I don’t know, maybe have the foresight to not let champagne get the better of me.” 

Her implication is clear—that this could’ve all been avoided if they simply never met.

This is when Ben can no longer stay silent.  “Well, Rey, I hate to burst your bubble, but there are no restart buttons in life.  So, what can we do?  Better yet, what do you want _me_ to do?  Should I hold a press conference and set the record straight about how those photos were misleading?  Or how about I take it a step further and deny the source’s claim that you’re headlining my show and just nix that godforsaken dress altogether?”

“What?”  Rey is appalled.  Not at the notion of no longer being a part of his show, but at his ability to remove the dress from his line so fleetingly—as if it meant nothing to him.  Sure, there was a moment when Rey was primarily concerned about her own job security, but so much has transpired since Kylo first came knocking on her door and she knows that it must pain him to even suggest doing away with something that he had poured his heart and soul into these past few weeks.   She won’t let him do it.  There has to be another way.  “Don’t even think it!  That dress is the most exquisite thing I’ve ever worn and I can tell how important it is to you.  Nothing would make me happier than to present that dress to the world, but…well, I do wonder if it might be better for everyone if a different, less controversial model were to—”

“That dress is important because of you!”  He says it—no, shouts it—through gritted teeth, his face beet red from the violent passion he can no longer suppress.

Rey is left shell-shocked as she stares at him, mouth agape.

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg as Kylo continues to unburden his soul to her.  “I’ve envisioned some version of that floral opalescence for years, but no one has been able to inspire me to design it—until you.  I don’t know how you did it, but somehow, you’ve simultaneously invaded my dreams and my thoughts, and I know I’m not the easiest person to be around, but it doesn’t feel that way with you.  You call me on my bullshit when others won’t.  You remind me what happiness looks and feels like.  You are…fuck, you’re everything, okay, so I’m sorry if I’m not as trigger happy to hit the restart button as you are.  It’s not perfect, but I wouldn’t change a thing about us—about this.  Not a goddamn thing.”   

_Well, fuck._

Any ability Rey might’ve had at attempting speech is rendered useless.  Her mouth is dry and it feels like something is lodged in her throat as she continues to stare, dumbfounded and completely incapable of thinking clearly.

She has one clear thought though—a memory, really.  She’s nineteen and watching Cinderella for the first time since she was a little girl.  It’s a whole new experience as she watches the Disney princess glide across the courtyard with her Disney prince to the tune of “So This is Love” because it’s no longer romantic or idealistic.  Nobody falls in love that quickly, she staunchly convinced herself.  Nobody can simply look into someone else’s eyes after one encounter and just know that this is the person they want to spend the rest of their life with.

She thinks about this as she looks at Kylo—at Ben—who she’s known for a few weeks more than Cinderella knew Prince Charming, but still…

It’s too soon.  She can’t really know for sure.

Of course, this doesn’t stop Rey from wanting to believe in idealistic fairytales again.

She hasn’t said anything yet, which is likely why Ben starts to backtrack.  “Okay, so I wouldn’t change anything except maybe this excruciating moment.”  He turns to leave.

“Ben, wait,” she pleads, because he can’t go, not yet.  Not until she’s had a chance to unveil her own difficult truth.  “I don’t…that is, I’m not accustomed to this sort of…attention.”

Clearly, she’s not very good at this because right away she’s lost him.  “But, you’re a model.”

Rey sags her shoulders in exasperation.  “Not like that.  Modeling is all vanity and detached idolatry.  It’s like that saying, ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’.  You should understand better than anyone that, in this line of work, the world only has the bright, shiny cover to go by because, well, no one bothers to read the book.  But you did—at least, you’ve started to—and, god, now that I’m saying this out loud this is a terrible analogy.  What I’m inarticulately trying to say is that I’m not very good at this ‘thing’ because, um, I don’t have a family.  I never have.  I’ve never had anyone tell me they care about me before so this is all new territory for me and, god, please tell me you understand what I’m saying so I can stop rambling.”  

During the course of Rey’s confession, Ben’s face had morphed from a look of embarrassment to a look of hope.  By the end of it, however, his unbridled desire is on display as he holds her gaze, the back of his knuckles reaching up to graze her cheek.  “Can I kiss you again?”

There’s a delightful fluttering in the pit of her stomach because, _yes_ , she wants him to kiss her again but, _no_ , not like this.  She slides along the length of the couch, just out of his reach.  “Perhaps another time.”

“Why?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing.  “Because of those media clowns?  We can handle them.  I’m sure I can get PR to help us think of some way to smooth this all out.”

“It’s not that.  It’s…”  She could lie, couldn’t she?  Make up some excuse as to why they should call it a night.  “You’re going to laugh at me if I tell you.”  Apparently, it was difficult to lie with him looking at her like that.

He smiles in such an endearing and uncharacteristic way.  “Well, now you have to tell me.  You can’t make me leave on a cliffhanger like that.”

Ben’s right.  It would be cruel not to tell him and, honestly, this day couldn’t get any worse so she might as well roll with it.  Rey swallows her pride—as well as the invisible lump that kept getting stuck in her throat.  “Because, Ben Solo, if you kiss me right now, I’m not sure I’ll want it to stop at that and, I’m sorry, but I just never imagined that I’d be wearing these ridiculous Garfield pajamas the first time we have sex.”

This is not the answer he’s expecting and after the initial shock wears off, the smile on his face grows—equal parts amused and aroused—as he subtly begins to inch closer.  “You’ve imagined us having sex before?”

It’s not a question—not really—more like a realization and Rey wonders if he can see the blush creeping up her neck.  Naturally, she does her best to save face.  “That’s your hot take from all that?  Nevermind my insecurity about standing in front of a renowned fashion designer in a pair of pajamas predominately owned by overworked, moms that grew up in the 80s.”

“Of course, that’s what my brain zeroes in on,” he responds with a shrug.  “I’m a guy.  We think about sex all the time, so it only makes sense that we like it when you do too.”

Rey doesn’t know what to say.  She’s certainly not going to tell him how often she’s thought of…that.  By now, Ben’s so near that she can feel the heat radiating off of his skin.  It’s wonderful and dizzying and something’s definitely about to happen whether she thinks it should or not.    

“And for the record,” he adds, one hand cradling her hip while the other tugs at the hem of her shirt, “I’m kind of into this look.  I mean, who doesn’t hate Mondays?”

As if a jolt of electricity has burst through her veins, Rey goes off, pulling him down and molding their lips together.  There’s no going back now as the kiss deepens, his hands trailing down to cup her pajama-clad thighs and lift her so that she can wrap her legs around his waist.  She only breaks the kiss a moment, and that moment is agonizing.  “My bedroom’s over there,” she says, pointing somewhere behind her and she hopes that she’s right because she really can’t see straight right now.  He doesn’t need any more prompting as he hauls her off in the direction of her room, finding her lips once more.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you guys not to trust me! To be honest, the only reason why I split this one up is because I wanted to post something this weekend in honor of May the Fourth and Revenge of the Sixth and I was really hoping to just be done with it, but I have a bit more wrapping up to do. So, here's the fluffy, sexy prelude to my final installment of this fic. Fair warning, it ends on a bit of a cliffhanger... : /

“Ben,” Rey starts warningly, knowing full well that nothing else needs to be said.

Kylo growls against her neck as he makes—well, let’s be honest here, _pretends_ to make—adjustments to the pale pink flower sitting atop her shoulder.  “I know.  ‘Hands off at work’.  But, for the record, I did tell Hux to make sure that no one disturbs us and, honestly, as a designer of women’s fashion, I can’t help myself when I’m confronted with a stunning woman in a stunning dress.”

“Stunning, huh?” she quips, her body betraying her as she leans back against his chest.  Kylo takes that as his cue to continue his delicate ministrations on the hollow spot just to the right of her clavicle.  She is warm and soft and smells faintly like the cherry blossoms that bloom in Central Park in the springtime.  “Flattery, sir, will get you everywhere.  However, you should consider checking that ego of yours before calling this frock stunning when the rest of the world hasn’t given its decided opinion yet.”

Kylo’s lips detach from her neck only to harshly pull her waist against him.  She elicits a soft cry of surprise.  “Bite your tongue, you British minx,” he says, his mouth now grazing the shell of her ear.  “You know I detest that vile word, which is in no way interchangeable with dress or gown.  If you say it again I can’t promise that there won’t be consequences.”

Rey hums contentedly, her pigeon laugh rumbling against his hand on her waist.  “Well, considering how easy it is to get you all riled up, I suppose I can’t help myself either.  It makes for good foreplay though, doesn’t it?”

“In case, my dear Rey, that you have forgotten, I’ve been in your bed every night for the past five nights,” he whispers gruffly, one hand moving up to cup her breast through the decorative bodice, while the other travels south with a much loftier goal in mind.  Her breathing has become erratic and he knows that he’s got her right where he wants her.  “I would gladly sign a witness testimony to the fact that foreplay is by no means required to get either one of us in the mood.”

The gold taffeta and sheer pink organza overlay that stand between Kylo’s hand and the apex of Rey’s thighs do not deter him from attempting to prove this fact right then and there.  However, her body soon catches up with her brain, promptly squeezing her legs shut to keep his wandering hand at bay.  “I mean it, Ben.  We can’t do this in the middle of your office.  Asking Hux not to disturb us and knowing with absolutely certainty that he won’t find a reason to do so are two very different things.  I’m not prepared to take that risk.  You promised that we’d keep this thing discreet for the time being.”

“And I intend to keep that promise,” he says, turning her around so that they’re facing each other.  God, this woman truly is stunning—from those hazel eyes, to that crinkle in her nose when she smiles, to that look of unadulterated adoration when she’s gazing up at him.  He could get used to this, he thinks, as he cups both of her cheeks in his oversized palms.  “Whether you wish for the world to find out about us today or tomorrow or never, for that matter, is inconsequential to me—just so long as we can continue to do this.”

He kisses her, soft and chaste.

Rey purrs against his lips and, seriously?  How the hell is he supposed to control his libido when she makes little satisfied noises like that?  It’s enough to drive any many wild.  “We can definitely continue to do that…among other things.”  The suggestion is there until she’s suddenly pulling back, her desire vanishing like the flick of a light switch as she throws him what she thinks is her most reproachful glare.  “But not here.”

Kylo’s shoulders sag in defeat as he releases her face.  “Well, if you won’t let me play then I guess I should give Hux a reason for this privacy by actually getting some work done.”

“Yes, you should,” Rey insists, hands finding her hips.  Apparently, sleeping together for nearly a week is all it takes for her to decide who wears the pants in the relationship.  Strangely enough, he is 100% okay with this decision.  “Your closing slot—the most coveted and publicized slot in all of NYFW, by the way—is only two days away and you’re not even done with the final piece in your collection!”

“What, that?” Kylo asks, gesturing to the fairylike dress she’s sporting before waving his hand dismissively.  “Oh, no, that’s done.  I actually made all the finishing touches yesterday.”

Rey’s astonishment cannot be contained.  “What?  Then why did you—”

“You see, when we scheduled this appointment last week,” he interjects, anticipating her inquiry, “it was honestly just an excuse to see you again.”

Rey rolls her eyes and swats at his arm but otherwise does not seem at all inconvenienced by having to unnecessarily meet with him today.  In his eyes, her arrival was most assuredly necessary, seeing as any time spent with the woman did wonders for his temperament. 

“I did, however, make time to fashion a veil for the ensemble,” he suddenly remembers, “so, since you’re here, we might as well piece it all together to make sure that it matches what I envisioned.”

She gives him a funny look.  “A veil?  That’s encroaching on bridal attire, don’t you think?”  Her look morphs into one of abject horror as she tries to amend her line of questioning.  “I mean, not to say that this looks like a wedding dress…or that I look like a bride in it because, well, it’s not as if you envisioned, I mean, that I would be, um…”

It takes him a minute, but Kylo eventually gets where she’s going with this, why she’s decisively stopped explaining herself since it’s only making the hole she’s digging much larger. 

The thing is, as confident as he feels in admitting that he loves this woman, he’s not ready to say it to her and he’s certainly not ready to tell her about the wedding gown he had already dreamt she’d wear upon their nuptials.  It’s much too soon.  A move like that might scare her off for good. 

“Speaking of shows,” he redirects, going back to their previous topic as he heads to his desk to retrieve the veil (and gather his thoughts), “I caught the live feed of Jason Wu’s runway this morning.  You looked fantastic out there.  He was right to put you in those high-waisted sailor shorts.”

She tilts her head thoughtfully.  “You know, ever since I did that beach spread for Elle, designers have been almost exclusively putting me in shorts and above-the-knee skirts.”

He relaxes at the ease with which she allows this change in topic, taking the jewel-encrusted headband he crafted and positioning it at the crown of her head.  “Can you blame them?  I’ve seen firsthand how hypnotic those long stems of yours are.”  As he drapes the veil around Rey—pulling it over her face and behind her shoulders so that it trails down her back, giving her a set of ethereal wings—Kylo realizes that he hasn’t come close to telling the truth.  It’s not just her legs that have him hypnotized.  It’s everything.

As if reading his thoughts, fully aware that he is currently taking in the final product displayed before him, Rey chews on her bottom lip before asking, “So?  How do I look?”

He doesn’t quite have the words for how she looks, the visual component of her beauty only accounting for a fraction of the senses that have suddenly been lit on fire because of this astonishing woman.  And the dress?  Well, the closest Kylo comes to describing the whole of it is that in this dress Rey looks like the sun—bright and warm and (honestly, at this point) vital for his own survival and happiness.  But would he tell her that?  Probably not.  Spontaneous prose from a cynic like Kylo would either have someone like Rey bowled over in stitches or searching frantically for an exit.  

This is what he thinks, at least, having never let a relationship reach this stage before.  He is keenly aware that Rey is walking on uncharted ground as well, so perhaps he should stop making assumptions and simply, to turn a cheesy phrase, listen to his heart.

“Why don’t you take a look for yourself,” he says instead, intertwining their fingers and guiding her toward the mirrored podium.

She’s silent for several moments, peering into the reflective glass curiously, as if the person standing before her is someone else entirely.  She tilts her head to the side and finally meets his gaze through the mirror.  “Oh, Ben…”

“You like it?”

Rey laughs.  “Like it?  That doesn’t even come close to what I think of this dress.”  She smiles at the image before her and instinctively hugs herself.  “I feel like a Disney princess.”

“I’m glad,” he says, coming up from behind to envelope her folded arms with his own.  He rests his chin on her shoulder and smiles at the pretty picture they paint.  Never before would he have thought that domesticity could look so good on him.  “When you told me about your unloving childhood, Rey, it nearly gutted me.  I never want you to feel that way again, which is why I am determined to shower you with all the affection you are so sorely due—starting with this dress.”

She crinkles her nose in that way that he loves.  “What do you mean?”

“It’s yours.”  Either she hasn’t fully processed what he’s said or she doesn’t understand.  He wants to make sure that she does though as he holds her a little tighter.  “After the show, I’m going to make it explicitly clear that this dress is not for sale.  I have no plans to make copies of it and I only wish for you to keep the original.”

Once Rey has processed this, however, she does not seem as pleased as he hoped.  Swiveling out of his grasp, she turns to face him, a look of doubt marring her normally jovial features.  “Ben, that doesn’t seem right.  You shouldn’t taunt the buyers and critics with such an exquisite design and then violently rip it from their grasp.  It’ll look poorly on you, on your company.  This was supposed to be your masterpiece.”

“This,” he says, grabbing the skirt of her dress for emphasis, “is only the beginning.  I wasn’t joking when I said that I dreamt of you in this dress.  In fact, since then—since you—I’ve thought up an array of previously unimagined designs that could revolutionize the Kylo Ren brand.  Don’t you see, Rey?  You are my muse…for as long as you wish to be, of course.  This dress is a symbol of how that all started—of how you came into my life—and I don’t care if it sounds selfish, but I don’t want to share that with anyone.  That’s why I’m not going to sell this dress.”

One of her petite hands moves to rest across his chest, fingers splayed over his heart.  Kylo’s fully aware of how erratic his heart is pounding right now, but as embarrassed as he feels, she doesn’t seem to mind.  If anything, she’s glowing.  “I was wrong earlier, when I said that your ire makes for good foreplay.  I am much more turned on when you make gushy proclamations like that.”

He smiles, lifting the veil from over her face and leaning in so that the tips of their noses touch.  The action’s so intimate, so matrimonial, that it should make them second guess what they’re doing—but it doesn’t.  “Is that so?”

She hums in agreement, her arms snaking over his shoulders to card her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.  “I mean, I’m fairly certain that anyone you’ve ever encountered has bared witness to your wrath, but I feel like I’m the only one that gets to see _this_ side of you.”  She tilts her head up to kiss him but stops short of doing so.  “And though I’m not entirely sure how I feel about this whole ‘muse’ business, if it means spending more time with you I’m more than willing to give it a go.”

His hand moves to guide Rey’s chin upward so that she can finish what she started.

This proves rather difficult, however, as her wayward thoughts are still determined to be heard.  “And another thing—”

“No more talking,” he interposes before he’s crashing into her lips as if it’s the first time, desperate to relearn what she feels like, what she tastes like.  He silently thanks any deity that’s listening for how easily she obliges, her hands pulling on his neck as if there’s still too much space between them.  He loves these rough kisses—the pressure of her teeth along his bottom lip and the way his hands can’t quite stay still as they wander over every fissure of her body revealing how badly they want each other.

He gives Rey credit, though, for trying so hard to keep her wits about her.  “Wait,” she starts, breathless when she manages to remove herself from his lips before unceremoniously diving back in as if they were opposite sides of a magnet.  A few seconds later, she tries again.  “Ben…the door…someone could—”

Whatever it is that someone could do, however, evades her and instead she cries out in pleasure when Kylo manages to slip a hand inside the bodice of the tight dress to palm her left tit.  She hates when he neglects her breasts, so he knows that lavishing attention on them first is the surest way to get her going. 

As he starts to kiss his way down the column of her neck, he hasn’t forgotten her attempts at speech and does his best to quell any lingering fears.  “My staff is under strict orders…not to enter that door…let alone comm me.  We’re fine.”  His nose is buried deep in the crevice of her cleavage as he makes his own appeal.  “Please, Rey.  You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this to you in this dress.”

In response, Rey grabs Kylo’s face and pulls him up so that his body no longer curves like a bow around her.  She kisses him once, determined to show a little backbone and not deepen the kiss so she can state her peace.  “Do what, exactly?”

Kylo doesn’t need anymore prompting than that, slowly dropping to his knees, hands caressing down her sides before traveling inward to graze against the front of her thighs where the layers of fabric aren’t as dense.  He finds her knees before continuing his descent along her shins and then her ankles, all the while holding her lust-induced gaze.  The hem of the dress is in his clutches now, knuckles brushing against the tabbed ankle strap of the Marchesa dress sandals he put her in. 

He doesn’t leave her in anticipation long, lifting the two layers of ornately decorated organza so that his other hand can pull the back of her bare knee toward him, his lips finding purchase against the inside of her thigh.  He feels rather than sees her skin prickle with delight and as much as he’s doing this to please Rey, to get her to shout his name in ecstasy, his hand reflexively grips her flesh a little bit harder because, holy hell, if he’s not a damn about to burst. 

It’s almost embarrassing how much of his blood has already flown south just by touching and kissing her.  It’s not as if they haven’t done this before.  Two nights ago, he spent thirty minutes simply mapping out the freckles from Rey’s shoulder to her chest and along her ribcage toward her hipbone.  He knows every part of her so intimately already, but that doesn’t stop him from craving and demanding more.

Add in the fact that she is wearing the dress he designed specifically for her—as well as the sense of danger associated with getting into some explicitly rated-R positions in the middle of his office—and, well, Kylo is certain that nothing can stop him from kissing his way up her thigh to reach that holiest of holy places that he fully intends to ravage with his lips and tongue.

“Do you hear that?” Rey suddenly asks, the muscles in her legs tensing.

“Hear what?” he responds, not really seeking out an answer as he continues on his sacred path, the hand at the back of her knee caressing its way north until it’s settled on the swell of her bottom.

She’s clawing at his shoulders now and he realizes belated that it’s not in pleasure but to get him to stop.  “I hear voices.  Ben, I think someone’s coming.”

Kylo really doesn’t want to stop as he sighs against her skin.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rey.  No one’s—”

And then he hears it.

“I don’t give two shits if he says he’s not supposed to be disturbed!  We haven’t seen Ben in eight months and I’ll be damned if anyone stops me for going through that door!”

Kylo stumbles his way out of the folds of her dress, eyes wide and searching as he attempts to process what’s about to happen. 

“Ben, what is it?”  Rey asks, hand on his arm to calm him.  “Who are those people?”

He lets out a frustrated huff before meeting her gaze.  “Literally the last two people I want to see right now.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I swear I'm not doing this on purpose. I only broke this chapter up because I haven't posted in a while and I'm still not done and I won't get to it today because I'm still recovering from seeing f#$%ing T-SWIFT last night (she is seriously amazeballs)!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> Anyway, here's part one of the finale. The next chapter (I promise) will be the last one. I hope you like it, even though I leave things on a bit of a cliffhanger again...

“Both of your parents?” Rey asks in confirmation, her voice an octave higher than usual.  She smooths out the skirt of her dress before placing the veil back over her face to hide how flushed she is after almost being ravaged by their son.  “But I thought your mother was the only one coming to the show.”

Ben’s breath comes out in a huff as he quickly runs his fingers through his tousled locks.  “Han conveniently forgets to tell me when he’s in town, knowing I won’t have time to come up with an excuse as to why I can’t see him.  I should probably apologize now for whatever happens next.”

Rey catches Ben fidget nervously before clasping his hands just below his black leather Gucci belt—and she can’t help but grin knowingly at what he’s trying to hide.  But as the office door is suddenly wrenched open, the grin disappears from her face and Han Solo strides in, followed closely by an overly-neurotic Armitage Hux. 

The last to enter is Secretary of State Leia Organa and the first thought running through Rey’s head upon seeing her is that she doesn’t look nearly as imposing in real life as she always seems during White House press briefings.  To be fair, this is the woman who successfully aided the president in negotiating a ceasefire with the terrorist group, The First Order, and thus potentially preventing another world war, so it’s only natural for Rey to assume that the government official brings that hard-headed exterior with her everywhere she goes.  But, no.  Upon walking in, Leia immediately scans the room for her son, before pinning him a with a sympathetic smile.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Armitage prompts, adopting a more formal tone than Rey is used to seeing on him, “but Mr. Solo would not be deterred.” 

“Of course, I won’t be deterred,” Han replies rather gruffly, and already Rey can see so much of Ben in his father—in the way his nostrils flare in irritation and the way his stance is wide and imposing.  “We shouldn’t have to wait in the lobby like common folk to see our own son—especially since we’re the ones that loaned him the money to start this company.”

“Which I have since paid back,” Ben counters, mimicking his father’s irritation.  The resemblance is uncanny, really.  “You know, you seem to forget that fact every time I bring it up and I’m starting to wonder if it’s purposeful or merely a product of old age.”

“Ben!”  Rey is surprised by how quick she is to scold him, communicating her disapproval with a single look.  It’s probably not wise for her to talk to him this way in present company, but it’s too late to turn back now.  “Don’t be cruel.”

“I can take it, sweetheart,” Han replies, forcing Rey to tear her gaze away from Ben to find his father studying her curiously.  “He’s no stranger to whirling disparaging insults at me.  What he hasn’t done, however, is allowed anyone else to call him by his birthname.  You must be pretty important to my son, yes?”

“Oh, god, here we go,” Armitage mutters under his breath, hand at his temple.

Rey feels the panic begin to seize her.  “Oh, I—uh—"

Thankfully, Ben comes to her rescue.  “Actually, Rey is one of my NYFW models—hence why she’s standing on the podium in an elaborate dress.  This is her final fitting before headlining my show on Wednesday.  Speaking of my show, since you didn’t forewarn me, yet again, that you were coming, Han, I’m afraid that all seats are booked at present.”  Ben is so calm and cool in the way he redirects the conversation, proving that he’s way better at this than she is.  Rey has always been a terrible liar.

Han waves his hand dismissively.  “You know I don’t care about all that.  My understanding of fashion is close to zilch, so my presence would likely offend more than one person in the audience.  I only came to see you.”  It’s an honest, almost heartfelt confession—one that has obviously made both men uncomfortable, which is why Han then turns to address Rey.  “I hope I haven’t offended _you_ , miss, in assuming that you and Ben were an item.  I obviously know nothing about you, but it’s just…well, you can understand my confusion considering our Benny boy here has been pretty candid about how badly he wishes to disassociate himself with any of our family names.”

Ben sneers, subtly mocking his father’s use of a nickname he clearly detests and at this Rey finds that she is no longer frozen with fear.  She turns the tables and comes to her lover’s rescue instead.  “Can you honestly blame him?  Ben is not only a Solo—which is a lot in itself, being the son of a famously heroic pilot—but he’s also an Organa and a Skywalker.  His lineage and legacy are grander than any I’ve ever known, and with so much to live up to, I’m not at all surprised that he chose to take on the pseudonym Kylo Ren.  Doing so has allowed him to be his own person.  I quite admire that, actually.”

She sneaks a glance at Ben, who has that look in his eyes—like he wants to kiss her, fiercely and desperately—but if they’re going to make this thing between them work, then they really need to start practicing some restraint.  Her gaze refocuses on Han as she flashes him a honeyed smile, hoping he isn’t too put off by her brazen assessment.

Han returns her smile, though his seems a little more conniving, as if he knows something Rey doesn’t—and perhaps he does.  “Well, you certainly hit the nail on the head there, didn’t you?  Wow.  You know, Ben always had a thing for girls with accents, but I never took him for being the model type—I mean, considering he’s surrounded by them 24/7.  Though something tells me you’re not like other models, are you?  What’s your name again?”

Before she even has a chance to respond, Ben’s doing it for her, shaking his head at his meddlesome father for good measure.  “It’s Rey, and as I’ve already told you, we are not together.”  Rey notices that it’s getting harder for him to say that and, honestly, hearing the lie spill from his lips feels somehow wrong.  She knows that she’s the one who insisted on keeping their relationship status a secret, but at what cost?  Things are strained between Ben and his parents as it is, so keeping them in the dark might be doing more harm than good.  “She’s here for a fitting, which would’ve been finished by now if we weren’t so rudely interrupted.”

The tension in the room is escalating—Rey can actually feel it surrounding her.  She’s in need of a respite, her eyes roving around the office until they finally settle on the only person who has yet to utter a single word since it suddenly got so crowded in here.  It’s jarring enough to have such a high-ranking government official standing less than 20 feet away from her, but what’s even more nerve-racking is the fact that Leia Organa is full-on staring at Rey and appears to have been doing so for some time now.  She’s not sure how the rest of the room has somehow forgotten the woman was here, but Rey decides to call attention to it.  “Ms. Organa, are you all right?”

“Impossible,” is her only reply at first, breathing the word out so softly that the others likely might not have heard her.

Rey’s question pulls Ben out of his argument with Han as he promptly moves to Leia’s side, concern marring his features as he places a comforting hand on her shoulder.  “Mother, what’s wrong?  Why are you looking at Rey as if you’ve seen a ghost?”

At this, Leia’s trance finally breaks, peering up at her son as a weathered smile stretches across her face.  “I didn’t mean to alarm you, dear,” she says, patting the hand on her shoulder.  “It’s just that, for a moment there, I thought I did see a ghost.  And then I found myself being transported through time, to when I was a little girl and I would hide behind the door to my father’s study, so I could watch my mother model these exquisite gowns made of gossamer and silk.

“Back then, she was the epitome of grace and beauty,” Leia finishes before fixing her gaze on Rey.  “As are you, my dear.  Without even knowing you, I can tell that you were destined to wear this dress.”

Such high praise—from such a graceful and beautiful woman herself, no less—and it doesn’t stop there as everyone in the room gives their final appraisal of the never-before-seen Kylo Ren piece she’s sporting.

“Destined, indeed,” Ben agrees, flashing Rey a private smile.

“You look stunning,” Han says, and Rey briefly wonders if this is out of character for him to give his opinion on one of Ben’s designs.  “I may not know a lick about fashion, but I know when a woman looks stunning in a dress.”

Armitage, of course, has much more to say on the subject.  “I must say, Kylo, though veering completely off course from your usual and highly marketable designs, if this indeed was the dress in your dreams, then I can understand why you wanted so desperately to make it a reality.  Rey is an absolute vision in this piece and I can’t wait until the buyers lose their mind over it on Wednesday.”

Ben gives Rey a knowing look and she almost feels bad for Armitage as he will likely be the one losing his mind when he discovers that the dress is not for sale.  

Now, much of this praise, of course, is really owed to Ben, and she’s about to do her part in commending him for creating such an extraordinary piece; but then she finds herself replaying Leia’s words in her head and, upon realizing the potential intent behind them, she’s desperate for further clarification.  “I’m sorry, Ms. Organa, but are you trying to tell me that you thought I looked like your mother?  As in Padme Skywalker?”

Leia responds so matter-of-factly.  “From the moment I walked into the room.”

The others are now pinning her with scrutinizing stares, as if trying to see what Leia sees.

Meanwhile, Rey is so flabbergasted by this assessment that she momentarily forgets she’s talking to the Secretary of State and not just Ben’s mother.  “Impossible is right!  You must’ve been mistaken, Ms. Organa, because we are talking about THE Padme Skywalker!  She was fashion royalty, modeling Vader’s designs for nearly ten years!  She gave birth to twins and then shot one of the most iconic Vogue cover photos only three months later!  I’m sorry, but I’d sooner believe that you actually saw an apparition of her than you somehow caught a glimpse of this royal legend in me!”  

Han laughs, his hands finding purchase on his hips.  “Well, Rey, I would’ve thought you of all people would know how a monarchy works.  Royalty is about succession, no?  Sure, Leia’s parents were considered fashion royalty for a time—but ‘were’ is the operative word here.  I think what my wife is trying to say is that perhaps it’s time for a new designer and model duo to take the throne.”

Ben and Rey?  The new Vader and Padme?  The mere idea of superseding this iconic duo’s legacy seems so far-fetched and surreal to even remotely be true.  Rey idolized them both as a child and though she certainly dreamed of becoming a model like Padme, she never—not even for a second—thought that one day she could live up to the standard the refined woman originally set.

She glances at Ben, and the anxiety is likely written all over her face, because his brows are creased in concern as he attempts to placate her with a single look.  God, she needs her rock.  That’s what Ben has been this past week, and she suddenly hates all this pretense they’ve created and wants nothing more to hold his hand or to feel his fingers rub soothing circles on her back.

“Hey,” Leia says, interrupting Rey’s fantasy of content domesticity, “what are you kids doing in April?  Han and I are planning to take some time off to just sit at home and relax and we would certainly love some company.  I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but D.C. is quite beautiful in the spring.  What do you say, Rey?”

It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back as Ben hangs his head, dramatically throwing his hands up in the air.  “Guys, for the last time, Rey and I aren’t—”

“Ben Solo,” Rey sharply intervenes, “I do believe I am perfectly capable of speaking for myself.”  The reproachful look in her eye has returned as she silently reminds him who wears the pants in this relationship.  

Because it is a relationship, Rey realizes, and there’s no point hiding it any longer.

Stepping down from the small podium, Rey sidles up to Ben and puts her hand in his—slotting their fingers together as if it’s nothing, as if they do this all the time—before addressing Leia’s question.  “I’ll have to check with my agent to make sure he hasn’t already booked something without my knowledge, but I’m sure Ben and I can find time for a short visit.  Isn’t that right, pumpkin?”

As soon as the word has left her mouth she wants to take it back.  Initially believing the cutesy nickname would act as a symbol of this new plateau in their relationship, she realizes belatedly how unnatural it sounds.  Pumpkin?  No, that name is not befitting of someone like Ben.  They’ll have to revisit this conversation at a later date to determine which terms of endearment might be most appropriate for one another.

Initially surprised by her sudden declaration, understanding soon washes over Ben’s face as he pulls their clasped hands up to his mouth to brush his lips across her knuckles.  “Of course, Shnookums,” he replies smoothly, and of course this meant that he was not going to let her live that one down.  She made a mental note to give him grief about it later.  “If that’s where you want to go, I’m more than willing to take you there.”

“Good god, Rey,” Armitage voices, and she can here the disgust that is likely on his face, but for now she only has eyes for Ben.  “Beyond anyone’s expectations, you’ve managed to turn the Scrooge formally known as Kylo Ren into a ball of mush at your feet.  How on earth did you do it?”

Rey shrugs, smiling like a lovesick adolescent.  “I’m sure I’ll never know.”

\--

It was late April before they were able to make it down to D.C., Ben having to endure more press interviews than usual after the success of his NYFW show and Rey gracing the cover of every fashion magazine and blog from here to Japan.

Han and Leia lived in an adorable three-story, five-bedroom colonial in Forest Hills, complete with an expertly manicured yard.  It was like something straight out of Architectural Digest and it only took Rey a moment to realize that it probably was.

“Blue shutters and a red door?” Rey beams, marveling at the spectacle before her as they strolled up the cobblestone walkway hand-in-hand.  “It’s like every little girl’s dream home.  Did you grow up here?”

He nods.  “Han bought it off his friend, Lando, back in 1979, I think.  It was a bit of a picker upper then, but my mom fell in love with it instantly, so Han spent years restoring it and making a few modifications for her.”

Rey nudges Ben playfully after he rings the doorbell.  “Hmm.  A habitual grump acting like a big ol’ softy for the woman he cares about.  Now, who does that remind me of?”

“If you think I’m gonna build a house for you, Rey, you’ve got another thing coming,” he responds cheekily.  He knows that’s not what she means and she knows that he only said it to avoid admitting how much of a softy he really is around her.

Han answers the door, promptly putting an end to their previous conversation.  “Well, it’s about time.”  He then shouts down the hallway, “Leia!  The lovebirds have arrived!”

“A little louder next time,” Ben says, his deep voice dripping with sarcasm, “I don’t think the people on Capital Hill heard you.”

“Oh, stop being a goddamn worry wort.  The entire world figured out the two of you were dating even before they oohed and ahhed at your runway show thing.  Well, come on in.  I’m sure Leia can’t wait to give Rey the grand tour.”

In truth, Rey couldn’t wait to receive it.  Much like Leia, seeing this house was like love at first sight.  She was eager to learn about all the minute details of every room—like how the china cabinet in the dining room used to belong to Ike & Mamie Eisenhower and how all the panels and cabinet doors in the kitchen were made of recycled cherrywood.  Despite most of her political experience stemming from war-related matters, Leia Organa was also a known advocate of environmental preservation.

Rey’s favorite part of the house was definitely the all-glass room that looked out into the backyard.  As Ben decides to take up Han’s offer to check out the Cadillac he’s restoring in the garage—much to everyone’s surprise—Leia grabs a couple glasses of iced tea for her and Rey before they perch themselves on ornately-designed chairs and just take a moment to drink everything that surrounds them.  The large glass windows afford them the perfect view of what a beautifully bright spring day it is, tulip magnolias in bloom as birds flutter from one Virginia pine tree to the next.

“We don’t get many views like this in New York,” Rey says, sipping on tea that is sweeter than she’d like but somehow tastes like a childhood she wished she had.  It was astonishing how quickly this house became a home.

Leia smiles, her eyes glazed over as she is lost in a memory.  “I much prefer when I can get Ben to come down here instead of visiting him in the city.  The noisy bustle of all the skyscrapers and cars and people somehow force him to act more severe than he needs to be.  Moments like these are certainly harder to come by nowadays but, I don’t know, when he’s here, he’s calmer.  He’s more apt to remember the good times instead of harping on the bad.  I will say though that he’s smiled more since meeting you than he likely ever has his entire life.”

Rey attempts to hide her blush behind her glass as she takes another sip.  “I love that toothy smile of his.  It’s a shame he doesn’t do it more often.”

“This is likely belated,” Leia starts, looking away from the windows and placing her full attention on Rey, “but I wanted to thank you for giving my son something to be happy about.  Han and I weren’t perfect parents, and that’s something I’ll likely be grappling with for the rest of my life, but it is definitely a comfort to know that he finally has someone in his world that he cares for and that truly cares for him in return.”

It’s hard to imagine that the woman sitting next to her wasn’t a perfect parent because Rey truly feels that if she had a mother like Leia she would’ve had a much happier childhood.  She bites her lips to stave of the threatening sting of tears.  “You know, all these reporters keeping talking about how the ‘dress of destiny’ brought Ben and I together, but I just see it is as the greatest stroke of luck I could’ve ever asked for.  For most of my life, I felt like a nobody, and I thought that becoming a model would change all that, but after two years I still felt so hollow inside, like something was missing.  Ben was the first person to truly make me believe that I was somebody, that I was worth something to someone—and, let me tell you, that feeling is…intoxicating.  Honestly, it’s like I won the lottery with him.”

“Luck, huh?” Leia asks rhetorically, leaning her arm on the small table between them as flashes Rey a playful smile.  “Are you saying you don’t believe in the ‘dress of destiny’ then?”

Rey shrugs.  “I mean, the dress is obviously exquisite, and certainly gave us an excuse to spend time together, but at the end of the day, it’s just a dress.”

Taking one last sip from her glass, Leia sets it down before standing.  “Come with me.  I want to show you something.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh! It's done! Finally! 
> 
> Also, I totally forgot to show you guys the gown that inspired the 'Dress of Destiny' so I'll put it here. It's from Elie Saab's fall 2016 couture line.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the final installment!

 

 

“My brother and I were still so young when our parents died,” Leia begins her narration, persuading Rey to follow her out of the kitchen and up the stairs.  “First, the debilitating illness that took my mother.  Then, the unbearable heartache that claimed my father only a few short months later.  His passing hurt, but I think we all knew that my father was not meant for a world that didn’t have my mother in it.”

Rey keeps her eyes trained on the hardwood steps as they make their ascent.  “There’s such a sad beauty to what Padme and Vader had.  It’s kind of like poetry.”

Leia’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.  “A poetry expressed solely through fashion.  Anakin Skywalker, which is what he was called before he became Darth Vader, was never one for words.  When he did speak, he was known to say the wrong thing, especially to my mother.  My parents’ marriage wasn’t perfect, I knew that much, but that never stopped him from trying to convey the depth with which he loved her in the only way he knew how.”

“He even attempted to design a few dresses shortly after she passed away,” Leia continues, opening a door to a room that must not have seen much use in recent years—dust particles swirling in the sunlight, the smell of old books and moth-eaten linens immediately infiltrating Rey’s olfactory receptors.  Photo albums and other keepsakes line shelves on one side of the room while the other is home to racks of what is likely some of Vader’s previous designs, carefully preserved in garment bags. 

The U.S. Secretary of State’s childhood memories are in this room.  Fashion history is in this room.  It feels intrusive yet welcoming for Rey to be able to stand here and simply marvel at her surroundings.  For lack of an appropriate response toward being privy to something so extraordinary, she stays silent and humble, patiently waiting for Leia to continue weaving her commemorative tale.

“Such an attempt was futile, of course.  His ingenuity with a needle and thread was snuffed out the moment he lost his muse, his one true source of beauty in a dark and unforgiving world.”  Leia walks over to a small desk underneath the wall of shelves, littered with some old sewing supplies, a couple of sketchbooks, and a collection of fabric swatches that had certainly seen better days.  She then picks up one of the leather-bound sketchbooks and begins to slowly rifle through the pages.  “He did, however, have one good day.”

“One good day?” Rey repeats, her curiosity to learn more about this complex family akin to an addiction she can’t quite kick.

Ben’s mother pauses, apparently locating the sketch she was hunting for, before retraining her eyes on Rey.  “Amidst months of wallowing in utter misery, our father gave Luke and me a single day to share all the things we loved and missed about our mother—her colorful bedtime stories, her impromptu dancing every time Dolly Parton would come on the radio, her insistence on tending to her own garden because ‘we must all do our part in helping the world grow’.  For a single day, we remembered instead of mourned her, which seemed to momentarily bring her back to life in his eyes…long enough to draw this.”

Turning the book around for Rey’s perusal, Leia waits for recognition to dawn on her companion’s face.  “Is that…no, it can’t be.”

And as much as the idea seems downright impossible, there before Rey’s eyes is a sketch of a gown, shrouded in hues of pinks and golds and floral embellishments. 

A gown sketched by Darth Vader before Ben Solo was even born.

“I hope you understand now why I was so stunned when I first saw you in that dress,” Leia then says, which is what finally clues Rey in to the fact that she’s not imagining things and that Kylo Ren’s revered Dress of Destiny is not merely a figment of his dreams, but a continuation of a concept born long ago.  “He died before he had a chance to bring this creation to life, and I honestly never thought it would see the light of day.”

“So, what does this mean?” Rey asks, one of many questions currently churning in her head.  “Does Ben know about this?  Or are you trying to convince me that the visions of Darth Vader and Kylo Ren are somehow cosmically linked?”

She takes the book back from Rey and closes it, in hopes of grounding them both back in reality.  “Though nothing is known for certain in this matter, it is likely that Ben wandered into this room and came upon this sketch when he was still a boy.  He may not be fully cognizant of where the idea for that dress came from, but I believe that it stuck with him for so long for a reason.  I believe that dress really was destined to be created.”

Rey sees now how utterly wrong she was in her claim that the Dress of Destiny was ‘just a dress’.  It is so much more than that.  It has hidden roots in fashion history.  It is a happy memory for a woman that has lost so much.  It is what brought two lonely people together.  It is the beginning of a destiny that Rey is finally ready to embrace.

Overwhelmed with emotion, Rey reaches for Leia’s hand and squeezes it comfortingly.  “So, what do we do now?  Do you think we should tell Ben?”

“Tell me what?” Ben beckons from the doorway, startling them both.  He’s leaning against the frame with his arms folded across his chest as his gaze shifts between them.

Leia inadvertently answers Rey’s question by surreptitiously placing the book back on the desk behind her.  “That Rey and I are planning a trip to visit your uncle in Scotland over the summer.  He’s inquired about her several times already, you know.  I think it’s high time they meet.”

Ben rolls his eyes, pushing off the door frame as he steps closer to them.  “Why?  Uncle Luke doesn’t give a shit about me anyway.  Ever since I decided to follow in his father’s footsteps, he’s been compelled to lecture me on morality and ‘where this path may one day take me’ or whatever.  I stopped sending him invites to my shows a long time ago and for good reason.”

As Ben and his mother debate over why they should or shouldn’t visit Luke Skywalker, Rey silently mulls over the woman’s decision to keep Vader’s sketch a secret.  The longer she thinks about it, the more it makes sense to her.  Ben has had enough identity complexes to last anyone a lifetime.  Telling him that the dress that reinvented his fame and image was based on a sketch created by his grandfather would likely set him on a downward spiral.  Why ruin a good thing when there’s nothing to gain from it?

“Look,” Ben continues, “I get that you’re all about family these days, but that stuff’s never come as easy for me, okay?  I’ve already spent more time with…with my father”—saying the words out loud is like a bitter pill, but he swallows it down anyway, knowing it’s what his mother wants to hear—“in the last two months than I have most of my adult life, so can we, I don’t know, ‘baby-step’ our way through this family reunion?”

It’s so adorable that he’s trying, that he wants to do this for his mother.  Rey also hopes that she’s not far off in assuming that he wants to do this for her—to show her that he can be a family man, so they could, perhaps, one day start a family of their own.

Of course, she’s probably running away with her fantasies on that one.

“Luke can wait,” Rey finally intervenes, saddling up to Ben to wrap her arm around his waist.  Instinctively, he does the same.  “This summer is going to be about you and me.  Afterwards, we can maybe entertain the idea of introducing me to the entirety of your family lineage.  How does that sound?”

He smiles in that way she knows could only mean that he’s in love.  “Sounds like a plan to me.”

 

\--

 

_If you missed last week’s ‘wedding of the year’, you’re probably living under a rock.  After first being seen together two years ago at NYFW, infamous fashion designer, Kylo Ren, and British model, Rey, finally tied the knot in a beautiful ceremony in Central Park.  It was a star-studded event, with Kylo’s parents, Leia Organa and Han Solo, as well as many familiar faces of the fashion world in attendance.  The familiar face of Tom Ford, however, was notably absent._

_Though the newlyweds are rumored to be currently honeymooning in the relaxing crystal waters of Bora Bora, I did have a chance to sit down with Armitage Hux, current GM of the Kylo Ren NYC brand, who had a front row seat to the highly anticipated event._

**A perfect day for an outdoor wedding, was it not?**

**AH** : Indeed.  Cherry Hill is absolutely gorgeous in the spring.  The blooming forsythias and azaleas made for a lovely backdrop.

**And I hear Rey entered the cul-de-sac in a horse-drawn carriage.  That must’ve been quite a sight.**

**AH** :  A moment suited for fashion royalty, to be sure.  As she stepped off that carriage, she seemed to radiate elegance and bliss.  Who would’ve ever thought that she could look even more stunning than she did in the coveted Dress of Destiny.

**Oh!  I’m so glad you brought that up!  What a remarkable wedding gown—although, calling it a gown seems hardly appropriate.  Can you tell us how Kylo Ren came up with this particular designing decision?**

**AH** : [Kylo will] likely kill me for saying this, but when it was rumored that they broke off their engagement five months ago, it was actually because of a disagreement they had over what she would wear to the wedding.  He wanted to design something reminiscent of Grace Kelly and she didn’t want to be bogged down with something bulky, determined to dance at her own wedding reception.  During their brief and, honestly, insufferable time apart, is when Kylo had the inspired idea to create a tasteful jumpsuit for her, complete with an embroidered gossamer cape.

**I’m still not over that ensemble.  Definitely in my top five of the most iconic wedding looks of all-time.  I mean, first the Dress of Destiny and now this!  Kylo Ren continues to prove that he’s still got tricks up his sleeve when it comes to shaking up the fashion world.  Any idea what he’s got in store for us next?**

**AH** :  Well, as you might’ve heard, the happy couple is moving to Paris in the fall.  What you may not have heard, however, is that Kylo’s been offered a slot for Paris’ fashion week, set to start next spring.  He plans on starting a couture line out there while I continue to run and manage his ready-to-wear line here in New York.

**I’m sure we’ll all be on pins and needles until this new couture line of his is unveiled.  Before I let you go, Armitage, do you have any advice for aspiring designers and models hoping to be the next Rey and Kylo Ren?**

**AH** :  Advice?  Hmm.  I suppose it’s not really kosher for me to suggest drinking champagne on an empty stomach at a prestigious gala—despite that being the most accurate summation of how the two met.  But if you’re looking for genuine advice, I would say don’t be afraid to follow your heart.  You never know where it might lead you. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The picture at the bottom is what I imagined for Rey's wedding attire. It's from Dany Mizrachi's spring 2018 bridal collection. I felt a dress was too conventional for the fashion king and queen, so I thought a jumpsuit would be a more memorable ensemble.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who stuck with this fun, little fic for the last month and a half! Now to get working on my grim, apocalyptic fic...


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